Long Motif Poems
Long Motif Poems. Below are the most popular long Motif by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Motif poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm a simple guy,
I like video games, music and succeeding without trying,
So when a man comes up to me and tell me he can save my life,
Who am I to turn down a free book from a generous passerby,
Strange how after hundreds of Reddit articles I find these red words the most astounding,
Each verse saturated with a truth beyond my understanding,
I embraced the scripture in my new-found belief,
Ditching skeptics and scientific contention for a biblical motif,
So with my newfangled faith I embarked on a holy endeavor,
To sift through a lifetime of personal uncertainty to uncover the answer,
I found myself under bottomless pizza boxes,
Buying time stocks from the evolutionary clock,
Discovering purpose through glimmering game discs,
Fashioning polygonal personalities into personable obelisks,
Uncovering the depths of my psyche excavating mountains of dirty laundry,
Rinse on, dry off, purging both physical filth and emotional quandaries,
Sharing walkways with speeding cars enslaved to a monetary duty I can't shirk
A journey of a thousand steps every pilgrimage to work,
My blood a bubbling brew of ambition and potential,
Yet required to surpass insurmountable credentials,
Ignoring the marked symbols in newspapers they seek to brand on my forehead,
Subjective opinions of civility and idealism dropped on me like warheads,
Cryptic predictions of personality and fate,
You think I need a dice roll to determine if I'm straight?
Countless evaluations to rationalize the psyche and soul combined,
What makes their opinion more viable than mine?
I'm taking buoyant steps upon the swamp to reach my destination,
Swapping carnality for divinity to achieve the ultimate self-preservation,
Cremating my mortality I seek to ascend,
Past primitive understanding of a purpose I cannot comprehend,
This road we walk is coated with trip-wire and paved with scorching coals,
Watch out for those flaming hours in your 5-day forecast so find the nearest foxhole,
The burden on our shoulders has already been lifted so there's no reason for us to be aching,
We're on the path to eternal salvation why aren't we skipping?
So why don't you tag along with me on this self-realization odyssey,
I can't promise explosions or tentacle-headed aliens but I know it'll at least be interesting,
Just you, yourself, me and I,
The most dynamic duo to ever breach the sky.
Little Lilly wanted to go, to the playground, to have some fun the other day.
And all the other Trolls wanted to tag along, for it looked like fun, they said.
So we went at dusk, for our first try, so no wee ones, would be anywhere near.
For you know, Trolls can play pretty hard, and I didn’t know, just what to fear.
I quickly found a bench as home base, for those who needed to have a time out.
Anyone who couldn’t play gently, or broke anything, found they’d get the rout.
First the sandbox became a deep, dark hole, from which to pop up, to scare, thereat.
Of course, dodge ball became club ball, so you can guess what happened with that.
King of the Hill was a really big thing, since they are all, the most territorial, by half.
Surprisingly, the slide was all-OK, but trouble came from underneath, as they laughed.
They wanted to exact a toll, of course, in the middle, as you passed above, quite brief.
The merry-go-round made them dizzy, knocking everyone down, in a domino motif.
The Seesaws became a great big catapult… to the other far side of the playground.
The monkey bars! Well, they aren’t monkeys, that’s for darned certain, I expound!
They tripped, fell, and smacked themselves senseless with no ones’ help, I ensure.
It could’ve been climbed much better, if not covered in so much drool, I’m sure.
Swings became broken as they pushed the others, all the way to the moon, oops!
And basketball became a slam-dunk, as unfortunately they didn’t fit in the hoops.
Hop Scotch took coordination, and you have to be able to wait your turn, too…
So, as in tag, they started bumping and fighting, until becoming a crazy piled up dado.
Races started more fights as all wanted to win, and threw everyone out of their way!
Hearing a laugh, I turned around to see Grandpa Troll, was ready to stop the moray.
He stood near the bench, as I stood looking up, amazedly, at what they had done.
Now, there were other benches everywhere, but they were piled high, on a single one.
I’ll never truly understand the brain of a Troll, for them a playground’s just not fun.
And they don’t play gently, and are bigger, than our wee folk, as I had already known.
They spent the night, putting things to right, even better than before they’d been broke.
And I finally took them home, to find OTHER things, designed especially, for OUR folk.
Cultural and Social Terms
Idol: In Persian poetry, often refers to the beloved, particularly one who is non-Muslim. The term carries complex connotations of forbidden desire and spiritual challenge.
Veil: Refers both to the physical head covering and the metaphysical veil between the material and spiritual worlds in Sufi thought.
Fate's Wheel: The wheel of fortune or destiny (charkh-e falak), a common motif in Persian literature representing the unpredictable nature of fate.
Character Names
Giti: A Persian name meaning "world" or "universe," suggesting the beloved encompasses all existence for the lover.
Saeed: An Arabic name meaning "happy" or "blessed," ironic given the character's suffering in love.
Poetic Devices and Concepts
Ghazal tradition: Though this is a masnavi, it draws heavily from the ghazal (lyric poem) tradition of Persian literature, with its emphasis on unrequited love and spiritual longing.
Tavern: In Sufi poetry, the tavern represents the place of spiritual gathering and divine intoxication, not literal alcohol consumption.
Cup and Wine: The cup represents the heart or soul, while wine represents divine love or spiritual knowledge.
Dawn: Often symbolizes spiritual awakening, hope, or the appearance of the beloved.
Mystical Concepts
Fana: The Sufi concept of self-annihilation or dissolution of the ego in divine love, reflected in the lovers' ultimate union where individual identity dissolves.
Ishq: Divine or passionate love that transcends ordinary human affection, central to Sufi thought and Persian poetry.
Longing (Hijr): The pain of separation from the beloved, considered a necessary stage in spiritual development.
Historical Context
Persian Literary Tradition: This work draws from the rich tradition of Persian mystical poetry, including works by Rumi, Hafez, Saadi, and others who used love poetry as a vehicle for spiritual expression.
Courtly Love: The formal, ritualized expression of love that characterized medieval Persian court culture, with its emphasis on patience, suffering, and devotion.
____________________________________
Note: Many terms in Persian mystical poetry carry multiple layers of meaning - literal, romantic, and spiritual - simultaneously. This ambiguity is intentional and central to the tradition's power and enduring appeal.
Stranded in bittercold without food or drink...
Though the following
twittering scenario quite absurd,
methought diehard adherents of mine
(intimation also quite far-fetched),
some unnamed readers insomnia
nevertheless could benefit courtesy
a thought provoking tweet
east of Eden heard.
Dire straits necessitated
yours truly to be atypical and think
outside the box (literally outdoors
of squarish structured nested dwelling),
where blinding albedo effect
forced me to blink,
additionally also ruffled tail feathers
of this sole surviving male bobolink
(North American songbird,
Dolichonyx oryzivorus)
pushing survival species
to extinction brink,
thus series of unfortunate events
woke resident chewink
(North American bird,
Pipilo erythrophthalmus
also called: towhee
or ground-robin),
tweeted from within
his cozy armoire chink
polar vortex froze habitat,
whereby arctic wind found
brushy areas to clink
unwittingly brambles ferocious
waving circular rotation
wrought minuscule countersink
eh, no bigger than a cufflink
his ornate bejeweled complex edifice
compliments of sizable income
allowed, enabled, and provided
opportunity in tandem
with significant other
to create acronym named DINK
(dual income no kid)
acquiring handsome combined income
rendering and selling stylized goldfinch
also known as distelfink
common motif in
hex signs and fraktur,
which interpretive native folk art
eye state meaningless
without rhyme nor reason,
superfluous gibberish by George,
and/or...well... courtesy
following purposeless gobbledygook
defying poetaster to incorporate doublethink
intelligently nsync with downlink
playfully, jauntily, and deliberately
creating confounding badinage eye wink
at thee, no doubt many
an anonymous innocent
reader calling me rat fink
(Ed “Big Daddy” Roth's child)
under their breath or more
colorful brutal appellation
inducing cheeks of unknown followers
turning fifty plus shades of firepink
moost definitely concurring gink
perfectly apropos description
concluded individually versus
collectively, quickly, and
unanimously i.e. (think) groupthink
I approve this entire message, which
most likely tinders pet peeve,
concluding GoDaddy
go tell Aunt Rhody
yours wittily, truly,
quirkily, nervously, jokingly
attempted to hoodwink.
You need a smart phone to get your number.
Take a picture of the square with the code,
answer the text message, “yes I am here”.
My number D106, better take a seat.
The interracial gay couple next to me, are awfully
grabby for 8:45 am, just mind your own business.
But, why doesn’t the white guy have any shoes on,
and why just socks, that when purchased were probably white.
Now serving D100
The rather large lady to my left requires two seats.
Whats the deal with women and tights and what’s is
the largest size available, in purple?
Her perfume choice, ode to yesterday’s cigarettes.
Now serving D101
Mr, I work for the highway department, walks buy and takes a seat.
Neon yellow shirt and jeans say, we were washed four or
five days ago and worn everyday since.
Presumably his wife, who doesn’t do laundry often, sits beside him.
Now serving D102
Two Asian men enter followed by a teenager, maybe a son.
He reads the billboard and explains the process.
Both men remove their phones and follow his instructions.
Three seat together is going to be hard to find.
Now serving D103
Across the way, a family of four, teenage daughter wearing pjs.
A Halloween motif with Michael Myer’s masked face.
Since it’s only mid September, aren’t we rushing the season a bit?
Then again, given the black lipstick and nail polish, maybe not.
Now seeing D104
Now, the shoeless gay guy gets up and jumps at the ceiling.
He’s trying to remove the cobweb hanging in front of the monitor.
Nice try, but at maybe 5’5”, LeBron James he is not.
His partner urges him to return to his seat.
Now serving D105
You know they sent you a notice: Renew by mail.
It even allowed you to do it on line, save a stamp.
But no, the picture was out of date, nearly eight years ago.
So here your sarcastic ass sits.
Now serving D106 “Thank the Lord!”
She’s behind the glass, the remnants of Covid.
Her lips are moving, but no sound is coming through.
I point to my ears and shrug. She increases her volume.
Yes, wish to renew my drivers license.
Sign the application where highlighted and $24.
Wow, 4 bucks cheaper in person, what a deal.
Picture taken, temporary printed, permanent in 30 days.
Outside finally and look down, what a horrible picture.
Since the elders often proclaim, my how time flies,
You then naturally look up into the skies.
To study the heavens for at least one small sign,
From the horizon up to the tallest tree line.
Then suddenly, a flock of birds flitters about,
So you believe that you might have time figured out.
But when the old people mentioned, my how time flies,
They didn’t bring up birds; so is time in disguise?
As a carnival balloon, yes that’s it, you say,
Like the vanishing kind on a bright summer day.
But losing your own, is one of life’s biggest fears,
Since you don’t want to waste any time crying tears.
It’s possible that time is commuting by plane,
Which is surely the fastest speed time could attain.
But what good can that be when the planes out of sight,
Unless it quickly returns from its roundtrip flight?
Then is waiting around to see time such a waste,
When each day there are many affairs to be faced?
Then out of the blue a helicopter is seen,
And you reflect, maybe time is on that machine.
But as soon as a copter is here it’s gone by,
After noisily chopping the beautiful sky.
Although it’s very unlikely time takes that ride,
Unless it cannot hear, or ear plugs are supplied.
Wait a minute, I got it, time surfs over clouds;
If I could do the same all my friends would be proud.
And occasionally time would appear as rain,
But then an excess amount would go down the drain.
Then could time be a portion of air all the time,
To be breathed in, or to give life to a wind chime?
Though, is that really flying like old people claim?
It seems all my guesses are exactly the same.
Well, after a long life of thinking and trying,
To figure out the ways that time could be flying,
In heaven, by feather, or motor, as vapor,
Yet, not one of those ways can be proved on paper.
Until recently, when I looked in the past,
The answers were there for those time questions asked.
That time really flies, though it takes time to see,
That a lifetime of living, is the real key.
And now I tell the young, that time truly flies,
But don’t bother looking up into the skies.
Time earns its wings every day, inside the mind,
And can only be seen, when looking behind!
David Fisher for Impress Me-Iambic Meter Contest
Philosophical motif
Virility Imperiled Manhood Emasculated (mine)
No sense of accomplishment prevails to date
analogous to kudzu... inadequacy runs rampant
recurring theme extant within poetic endeavors,
and often discussed with assigned therapist (one
among many girls named Stephanie Dodds) do
GOOGLE search and see for yourself – similar
curiosity got the better of me, whose christened
name (Matthew Scott Harris), not unique to yours
truly, a poem, which theme pertaining to aforesaid
first, middle, and last namesake already written by
none other other than this scrivener) impacted self
esteem less so than inchoate nascently, pervasively
rampantly,... thrashing unleashed upon impression
hubble early (perhaps even in utero) formative days
of milne eeyore whinnying pooh wrenching, ruing
jackknifing...unsmiling, lamenting childhood's end
upon cusp debilitating psychological tragedy, where
whatsapp pining within me present mindset lodged
nexus, sans linkedin destructive buzzfeeding apathy
mired potential vitality (crying evinced powerful
lungs) quickly succumbing against brutish, nasty,
yet not short reign of innate oppression, fixation
abnegation with dereliction, asper self preservation
engendering feeble gesticulation harkening incipient
personhood crowdsourcing courtesy condemnation
damning existential insignificance motif possibly
adopted comparing not fancy free and footloose
demeanor toward none other than Boyce Brandon
Harris, thee papa, jack of all trades, (many taught
thru his own quick learning penchant), numberless
abilities + storied vocation - mechanical engineer
equalled one smart polymath strengths constantly
reiterated by mother (dearest long since deceased)
agog how papa excelled at most every endeavor,
i.e. vocational career at General Electric (aerospace
engineer) in conjunction with bajillion avocations,
hence finding his sole son (second of three progeny)
when only yeah high (a scrawny, skinny, spunky...
little boy) internalizing heaping accolades bestowed
strong, not so dark, modestly handsome biological
paternal parent with (rocking) round the clock timely
adulation, which praise papa similarly received soon
after blessed birth April ninth ninety twenty nine.
OldSockFable
OldSockFable
3Fabel4
One old sock afforded free the one they thought the drier ate the one they
dropped by accident the basket overflowed in haste of want to escape the rain
the sock has none no toe jam yet no misery of toe no hole it is white it is in small
form the top is not so very long but short like a ballerina dancing in a music box
she wears sox like these
Could this one be the sock she wore on a foot like mine to keep it warm?
Iola the dancer the prance the vixen the ballerina the lover the sock loser in the
drier she it is that loves me and still cares Iola is the other name for ewe.
The missing pages on the internet the hair nets no one can ever find they need
them back they must be worn to cover hair in kitchens there the kisses muss the
hair so coifed and formed with gel the parfume forgotten spilled the baby powder
added to make the special day. Dancing done in heart if not in deed dancing just
for me. Jacket is lined and Indian motif fits with my jeans a lighter color blueing
blending as eye dance as eye prance just for Iola ewe in
mye sock and nothing else as she appraises mee. Sandals hidden against the
day eye need them shoes of leather marking time some of them just needing
dimes to ride ride ride then walk some more in leather uppers made of nothing
wondering at love and shoes and slipping in the cracks of learning wondering
again at love slipping sock upon the left foot only making shoe to fit more snug
BULLETIN Flashing News If MSN acquires YAHOO then none of the games will
ever work again the Windows will have the YAHOO frames and MSN will be the
tending frames. Yellow will dominate the blue and everything will be PEA GREEN
when MSN becomes YAHOO nerves strained beyond belief as headache comes
again with no relief just perhaps the medicine eye take so much later in the day
will win me a stay of execution intended not to mend it not to heal it but just to
temporarily extend it. When eye was working and eye lost my toe they took it off
the boot and greasy as it was they tossed it in the trash and smiled Can you save
my toe eye cried NO was all he said it is too dirty there is no way to use it now.
behavior becomes boredom or bait or bestial badges. behavior becomes passion, penalty, or pleasure. like masked owls some are turning temperatures made tragic. like dying by breath or knit to knots memories become mirrors. by mind apparatus by anxious fate while gates are opening. lion statues or statuesque angels so deeply removed. just a bit of meandering or quite precise or the author is partly unaware. just thinking of something. just watching interior Showtime. just looking at unfamiliar intentions. some desire what they give. some desire more. where others might be uncertain. beautiful ugliness or musicality arts so many intellectual cellos. arithmetic attraction so distressed it feels like saviors, or so unruffled a person must get closer. birds just sit in trees. some are monogamous. others are uninterested. coming to an issue, where behavior is habit, (hollowed hallowed habits). if a woman is a certain charisma, she lives out her caress. if otherwise, she lives that path—in darker corners, carefree but saddened. same as in men, a bite at early stages, something considered sacred is overrated. some edible cactus a mouth full of oases, or dirt, weeds, with wrestling. if to digest disgust where the author peruses too many porches. like paradox so palace like where we learn too much to actually penalize others. some activities are disgraceful. we speak more to softer anxieties. while so far into ourselves it might not matter. one endorsement, as for an abused child, and he may come up to be a great humanitarian. it seems sameness for arts. captions in our minds. chains on our churches. too much debt to repay. a soul masked by its behavior. we might marvel at those getting it right. where two dwell there’s subterranean activity, they’re certain to have disagreements. drums rang out by dearth, some lack in violins, some ache feeling terrific. the author is walking further, looking at faces, compelled to accept dynamics. one was slighted. another wanted gossip. when it didn’t come, one decided to join in. no one asked. no one needed intrusion. but maybe, in a grand scheme, as becoming a motif, the two are just being behavior. bone of my bone. or soul of my soul. or we drift dangling from dungeons.
With the melodic cadence of my fervent heart,
pulsating with the charming tinsels of mesmeric night,
gleamed my love for you with the enticing tinge,
suffused with the sequins of the argentine moon.
I felt in a trance the sweet touch so tempting
of your captivating charisma intangible,
but you drifted away from my engrossed perception,
like the chromatic cloud wafting in the twilight sky.
In the blooming valley of flowers my cataract heart
cascaded as a stream of embedded melted emotions
through the turquoise course of lingering longing,
and on the plateau of yearning I wandered beguiled.
From the ebony edge of the fallen gloomy night
the storm clouds surged with blades of shearing pain,
lacerated the lilting facade of the sky, I called my heart,
where the shards of dream sank in the tears of despair.
Losing the desire in the debris of the broken heart,
I sauntered sullen to the shore of silent sorrow.
My infatuation swirled away like dislodged surly sands
in the remote time’s tide when I thought you were mine.
The transient trajectory flame of devoured desire
furrowed in my marooned mind a blazing trail of longing.
I couldn’t trace entranced the track of the spurting star,
it drifted away like your love, for I didn’t dream enough.
From the ebony edge of the opaque night of despair
storm clouds surged with thunders of tearing strife,
splintered my remnant dreams dispersed in debris,
and I then realized my heart couldn’t yearn enough.
The sound of your voice in the avid air of my yearning
echoed with melody in the void of my lonely heart.
How complete I was as it delighted me to the core
to get the feeling of togetherness, I couldn’t let you know.
When you left tracing the trail of the melting mirage,
I felt deserted like the desolate sands in the dry dune.
My pent-up words ‘I need you’ remained sadly unsaid,
floated way in the whirlwind of sandstorm to oblivion.
Your essence stays with me as an indelible image,
fused with the onyx motif of the abyss in my heart.
I’ll light there a million candles of love for you,
so, you’ll find the lost way to return, and be mine, forever.